The Silent Cry

by Cathy Glass

  ‘You don’t mind me calling, do you?’ Laura asked.

  ‘No. It’s just rather late. I was asleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the time. Shall I call you back another time?’

  There didn’t seem much point now that I was awake. ‘It’s OK. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. It was nice of you to drop by today. I enjoyed your visit. I haven’t seen many people recently because I felt so down, but now I’m better I’ll catch up. I’ve just finished talking to Fran. We were on the phone for ages.’ She gave a small laugh.

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. I hoped Fran was a night owl.

  ‘I told her I’d be in the playground tomorrow.’

  ‘Great, although I thought I might see you there today.’

  ‘I intended to go, but then I nodded off on the sofa and Geraldine didn’t like to wake me or just slip out. You know how she fusses. Thanks for bringing Kim home.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Did she find some cardboard boxes for her class’s Viking project?’

  Laura laughed. ‘Yes, lots. We had loads in the loft from when we moved. Andy went up there and got them down when he came home from work. I won’t go in the loft – there are spiders up there and I hate spiders.’

  ‘Yes, so do I.’

  Our conversation continued – a perfectly normal chat between friends, if it hadn’t been so late. Laura did most of the talking, and I saw the clock ticking off the minutes to midnight. Then, at 12.15 a.m., I said, ‘I’m going to have to go now, Laura, and get some sleep. Why don’t you come to me tomorrow for a coffee after you’ve taken Kim to school?’

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. I’ll let you sleep now. Sorry to have woken you. See you tomorrow.’

  We said goodbye and I hung up. Yes, a perfectly normal conversation apart from the timing. No one with young children telephones a friend just for a chat in the middle of the night, but I assumed it was as Laura had said – that she’d lost track of time while talking to Fran. Thankfully the phone ringing hadn’t woken Adrian or Paula, but it took me a while to get back off to sleep.

  As Laura was planning to take Kim to school the following morning I kept a lookout for her as we walked down our street. Parents with children who attended the local school left home more or less at the same time, so we often saw others walking the same route. That morning the children in Kim’s class were all carrying cardboard boxes, but there was no sign of Kim with her mother, either ahead of or behind us. They weren’t in the playground either, but Fran was and she came towards me with a cardboard box under each arm. Her daughter was carrying another two boxes. ‘Did Laura telephone you late last night?’ Fran asked me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh dear. I am sorry. She told me she was planning on phoning you when we’d finished and I tried to persuade her not to. It was so late.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It was nice to hear from her, although it was late.’

  ‘It must have been. We were about to get into bed when she phoned me and we were talking for ages. My hubby wasn’t amused, although I explained I hadn’t heard from her in a long while. Laura said she’d been depressed but was all right now. I invited her for coffee this morning.’

  ‘So did I,’ I said, smiling, and again looking around for any sign of Laura. ‘I wonder where she is.’ There were others arriving with cardboard boxes of all sizes. Some of the children were carrying them on their backs like tortoise shells. It was comical.

  ‘She might have slept in,’ Fran said, also glancing around. ‘Laura told me she can’t sleep at night, and then sleeps in late or nods off during the day. Oh look, there’s her mother-in-law with Kim and the baby. So Laura hasn’t come. I’ll go over and see how she is.’

  I turned as Fran went over and saw Geraldine with Kim pushing the pram. She was carrying a couple of cardboard boxes and had another one balanced on the pram. Geraldine was straight-faced as usual and, avoiding eye contact, kept her gaze ahead. I saw Fran say something to Geraldine and she responded with a curt nod and what looked like a very short reply. Fran then went over to speak to another mother, so I guessed she hadn’t learned much. The Klaxon sounded and I kissed Adrian goodbye. I saw Geraldine with the pram, speeding towards the exit, but I didn’t try to catch up. Fran looked at me and shrugged. ‘Not sure,’ she said as we left the playground. Then we went our separate ways.

  I didn’t knock at number 53 on the way home. There was no reason to, and to do so would have crossed the line between good neighbourliness and intrusiveness. But of course I speculated on what exactly was going on.

  Laura didn’t come for coffee, and I wasn’t surprised. Something told me that if she wasn’t up to taking Kim to school then she wouldn’t be coming to me. Maybe she’d gone to Fran’s instead, but I doubted it.

  Laura wasn’t in the playground that afternoon either, and it was only after the children had come out of the building that I realized with a stab of horror that Geraldine wasn’t there either. Kim was waiting with her teacher as they were told to do if a parent or carer didn’t arrive to collect them. Grabbing Paula’s hand, and with Adrian in tow, I shot over to them.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to her teacher. ‘I’m taking Kim home.’

  ‘No problem,’ she said, and Kim came with me.

  But there was a problem. I knew then that I needed to clarify the arrangement I had with Geraldine for collecting Kim. I would ask her to telephone me when she wanted me to collect her. If you do something every day it becomes part of your routine, or if you’re asked to do something specifically it’s at the forefront of your mind. But this loose, ad hoc arrangement where I was expected to collect Kim if Geraldine (or Laura) wasn’t in the playground could easily lead to me forgetting Kim, as I’d just shown. Fortunately no harm had been done on this occasion.

  I didn’t get the chance to speak to Geraldine when I saw Kim home that afternoon, as she opened and closed the front door just long enough to let Kim in. I decided I would either catch her in the playground the following morning or, if not, I’d knock on their door on the way home when I just had Paula with me. I would tell Geraldine that I was more than happy to take Kim to school and bring her home, but that I’d appreciate it if she could telephone me before I left to let me know. It seemed a reasonable request.

  That night I’d just got into bed when the telephone rang. It was 10.45 – earlier than the previous night’s call, so I wasn’t asleep, but it was still late for a chat. I knew straight away there was something wrong.

  ‘Cathy,’ Laura said in a whisper. ‘I need your help. Can you come? Geraldine is downstairs with Liam and she’s trying to hurt him.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Very Serious

  ‘I can’t tell Andy because he’s on his mother’s side,’ Laura whispered. ‘But you’re my friend. You understand, don’t you? You must come here and help me.’

  As a foster carer I’d faced many unusual and difficult situations, sometimes having to make a snap decision on whether someone was telling the truth, but nothing had prepared me for this, in either my fostering experience or my personal life.

  ‘Why do you think Geraldine is trying to harm Liam?’ I asked, my thoughts whizzing and my senses on full alert.

  ‘Why?’ asked Laura, raising her voice above a whisper. ‘I don’t know. But she’s barricaded herself in the front room with Liam and won’t let me in.’

  ‘But how do you know she’s harming him?’ I asked.

  ‘I can hear him crying. And she won’t let me in to see him. I’m in the hall outside the front room. I’m going to wait here until she comes out and then I’ll rush in. Do you think I should phone the police?’

  If what Laura thought was true, the short answer was yes. If a child is in immediate danger then the police needed to be called as an emergency, but I wasn’t convinced Liam was in danger. ‘Where’s Andy?’ I asked.

  ‘Upstairs. Settling Kim,’ Laura said. ‘All the shouting and screaming has
woken her. I’m sorry I’ve upset her, but I have to protect my baby.’

  ‘Is Liam crying now?’ I asked. For Laura had said she was outside the front room but I couldn’t hear him crying.

  There was a pause when I guessed she was listening out for him, then she screamed: ‘No! Oh my god! I can’t hear him. He’s dead!’

  I heard the phone clunk as she either dropped or threw it down, but the line was still open. I heard her shouting and banging frantically on what I assumed was the front-room door. ‘Let me in, you evil witch! What have you done to my son?’ Then there was nothing to be heard but her hysterical screaming.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, rigid with fear. I wondered if I should call the police, but then I heard a man’s voice, presumably Andy’s, take control.

  ‘That’s enough, Laura,’ he said firmly. ‘Liam is fine. I’m taking you back to bed now.’

  The shouting, screaming and banging on the door suddenly stopped and was replaced by the sound of Laura whimpering like a wounded animal. It was heartbreaking to hear, but she must have allowed Andy to take her upstairs and see her to bed, for the whimpering faded into the distance and then there was silence. I kept the phone pressed to my ear, my knuckles white from gripping it so tightly. It must have been ten minutes before I heard another sound – Andy’s voice close by, asking, ‘Mum, are you and Liam all right? You can come out now. Laura’s calmer. I’ve put her to bed.’

  I heard the door to the front room open and then Geraldine’s trembling, desperate voice. ‘Oh, son, what are we going to do? This can’t go on.’

  There was no reply, but Andy must have spotted that the telephone was out of its cradle, for I heard him say, ‘Who was Laura talking to, Mum? Do you know?’

  Geraldine replied ‘No.’

  There was a small noise as the phone was picked up and then Andy’s voice came on the line. ‘Hello. Is there anyone there?’ he asked tentatively.

  I was very tempted to just hang up.

  ‘My name is Cathy,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend of Laura’s. I live further up the street.’

  ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. Then to Geraldine, ‘It’s a friend of Laura’s – Cathy?’

  I couldn’t hear what she said, but a moment later Andy came back on the line, his voice tight and controlling. ‘I don’t know what Laura has told you, but whatever it was just forget it, please. She’s very upset tonight and not herself.’

  That was the biggest understatement I’d heard in a long while, I thought, but I knew from what I’d just overheard that I couldn’t stand impotently by any longer.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t just forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m assuming that your mother wasn’t harming Liam as Laura said, in which case Laura needs help.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ he said defensively. ‘That’s why my mother has moved in with us.’

  ‘I think Laura needs more help than you and your mother can give her,’ I said as gently as I could.

  There was silence, and then I heard him sigh resignedly. ‘I know. You’re right. She attacked my mother tonight because she thought she was harming Liam. Mum had to shut herself in the front room. It’s a nightmare. I’ll take the morning off work tomorrow and make sure she sees a doctor.’

  ‘I think that’s for the best. If you need help taking Kim to school or collecting her, or someone to look after Liam, let me know. I’m a registered foster carer and I have two children of my own. My son and your daughter go to the same school.’

  ‘Thank you. Do we have your telephone number?’ he asked more conciliatorily.

  ‘Laura does. Shall I give it to you too?’

  ‘Yes, please. Let me get a pen.’ Then, ‘Thanks, go ahead.’

  I gave him my telephone number.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, all trace of resentment now gone. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to hear all this and be drawn into it.’ So I guessed he didn’t know of my previous involvement.

  ‘Take care,’ I said. ‘Give Laura my best wishes. And phone if you need me.’

  ‘I will.’

  We said goodnight and I replaced the receiver. My heart was racing and I felt queasy from shock, but at least I’d said what I had to. I got back into bed, but I knew I couldn’t sleep. I sat upright, propped up on my pillow, and by the small light coming from the street lamp I stared across the bedroom as my thoughts somersaulted. I took some relief from the fact that Andy was now going to make sure Laura saw a doctor the following day. I sincerely hoped he meant it and would keep his word. Cleary he and his mother had been complicit in trying to deal with Laura’s illness – for that was how I now saw it – and had kept it to themselves long after they should have sought professional help. Andy said that Laura had attacked Geraldine, which was bad enough, but if she’d been holding the baby at the time the outcome could have been much, much worse. There was also Geraldine’s concern that Laura could intentionally harm Liam, which was the reason she was sleeping with him downstairs and didn’t leave him alone with her. I knew the symptoms of postnatal depression included feeling low and experiencing mood swings, anxiety and irritability, but did they include wanting to harm others? I didn’t think so.

  It was after midnight by the time I fell asleep, and then I was wide awake again at five o’clock, thinking and worrying about Laura and her family. Perhaps it was because of the nature of fostering that I was getting involved, although I doubted that many would have walked away.

  I didn’t receive a telephone call that morning to take Kim to school, so I continued our routine as normal. Geraldine arrived in the playground with Kim just before the Klaxon sounded. I assumed Andy was with Laura and Liam. She threw me a cursory glance, but that was all. She then rushed off as soon as Kim had gone into school. But from that brief glimpse I’d had of her I could see she was tired and tense, and seemed to have aged in the last week. Little wonder, I thought, with all that she had to cope with. She may not have been the warmest person and clearly thought she knew best, but without doubt she was acting in what she believed was her family’s best interests.

  That afternoon after lunch I put Paula in the stroller and took her to our local library, or ‘lie-rabry’ as Paula called it. I had some books I wanted to return, but I also wanted to see if they had any books on postnatal depression. I felt I needed to know more: what the symptoms were and the treatment. Inside the library I let Paula out of her stroller and then parked it in the foyer with the other strollers. She held my hand as I began browsing the shelves, trying to work out where the books I wanted were. The Dewey classification system libraries use in England for arranging books on shelves has always flummoxed me, but eventually I found two books in the social sciences section that looked hopeful. I carried them over to the area for young children and sat on one of the bean bags, while Paula toddled around looking at the brightly coloured and enticing early-years books displayed on the low-level stands.

  The first book I opened was too theoretical for what I wanted, with lots of references to postgraduate research. The second was more user-friendly, and it wasn’t long before I’d found what I wanted: a list of the symptoms of postnatal depression, also known as postpartum depression. I was surprised by the length of the list, but as the author (a doctor) pointed out, the majority of women only experienced a few of the symptoms. Apart from the ones I already knew about – feeling very sad, crying easily, lethargy, inability to cope, anxiety and low self-esteem – others included feelings of hopelessness and despair, suicidal thoughts, guilt, insomnia, flashbacks, fixating on bad things that have happened in the past, worrying excessively about the baby, panic attacks, problems interacting with others and strange thoughts. The author said that if a new mother experienced three or more of these symptoms or they were particularly acute then she should seek medical help, as it was likely she was suffering from postnatal depression.

  The author distinguished between the ‘baby blues’ and postnatal depression. The baby blues were far less severe, with mothers feeling low and tired for a
few weeks after the birth but then recovering, usually of their own accord. The treatment for postnatal depression was usually a course of anti-depressants and sometimes counselling or therapy. Reassuringly, with treatment, recovery was usually quick, although the longer the condition was left untreated the longer it took, which wasn’t such good news if this was what Laura had. Yet while the symptoms listed had included strange thoughts, there was no mention of what Laura was now experiencing – believing the baby had the mark of the devil and that her mother-in-law was harming him, or being physically aggressive.

  Then I turned the page and began to read the next section, headed ‘Postpartum Psychosis’, and I had a cold, sinking feeling. Although postpartum or postnatal psychosis is a relatively rare condition, many of the symptoms fitted Laura: strange beliefs, delusions, paranoia, suspiciousness, hallucinations, as well as some of those also found in postnatal depression, such as insomnia, anxiety and despair. The onus again lay on seeking medical help early, and treatment usually included anti-psychotic drugs, therapy and sometimes admission to hospital if the patient was critical. I read that a woman’s chances of developing the condition were increased if her mother had suffered from it after giving birth, or the woman had developed it after a previous birth. Both of which applied to Laura. The author wrote that if there was a history of postpartum psychosis then the woman should be carefully monitored and supported throughout her pregnancy and after the birth. If she was, the outcome was very good, with the majority of women not developing the condition. But of course Laura hadn’t been monitored, because her doctor hadn’t been told of the problems she’d experienced after the birth of Kim. I guessed her doctor hadn’t been told that her mother had spent time in a psychiatric hospital after having Laura either. I realized then that in keeping it to themselves and trying to deal with it in the family, Geraldine and Andy had inadvertently stopped Laura from receiving the help she desperately needed and had probably worsened her condition.

  I continued reading until Paula had tired of amusing herself. I returned the books to the shelves and helped her pick some storybooks to check out and take home. I could have checked out the book I’d been reading, but I felt I’d read enough about postnatal depression and psychosis. And while I knew it was dangerous for people without medical training to diagnose (and I would never have voiced my thoughts to anyone, especially Laura and her family), as I left the library and began the walk home, deep in thought, I was almost certain that Laura was suffering from postnatal psychosis, and it was very serious indeed.